Saturday, February 26, 2011

Age

There must be some mistakeI am not the Venus of Willendorf These breasts that hang low and mournful, do not belong to me.This bulging goddess belly is not sacredMy flesh is swollen with unshed tearsMuscles and bones scream with the memory of past woundsCrows circle my eyes

Crimes, violations, betrayals no longer hide beneath my smooth skinThey have surfaced to weigh my body down with their sad talesThe mask I wore for centuries is now my faceThe lines around my mouth finally telling the truth Where I’ve been what I’ve endured and smiled through

I want to carve my self a minimal, silent bodyOne that can keep secrets So that no one will knowI am not the prancing young girl the hope-filled child

This is my body, I say not ready to be crucified on the cross of timeAnd if it must be so that age conquers allThen please tell me that there is a place I can go to before I die where flesh melts away, inconsequential in the heat of some sacred light.